


in the low lamplight i was free // heaven and hell were words to me

by elsinorerose, shaypotter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All Human AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dealing With Trauma, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fluff, Pining, References to Abuse, References to self-harm, Romance, So is music, Therapy is good, band au, being healthy is hard, gratuitous indifference to POV, or at least beginning to deal with trauma, pretending to know how being in a band works, relationships are hard, songwriting is hard!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-25 22:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20732039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsinorerose/pseuds/elsinorerose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaypotter/pseuds/shaypotter
Summary: "There's nothing wrong with a little crush, is there? It is not going to become anything more than that. He knows better. And even if it did...even if he could ever deserve her, in what universe would Jester Lavorre look twice at him? Caleb doesn't know which way or ways she might lean, but he's pretty damn sure it's not going to be towards the anxious, awkward writer who's so performance-shy that he can't even play new songs for his actual band. He has to record demo tracks for the Mighty Nein in his bedroom. It's a wonder they put up with him, honestly.So no, this is never going to be more than a crush. He will enjoy it while it lasts, and then it will pass, as they all do, and he'll get back to real life."The Widojest band!AU that no one, including Sydney, asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyOfPurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfPurple/gifts).

> A (belated) birthday gift for LadyOfPurple, who once single-handedly convinced Christine not to hate modern-day AUs. Title from "Work Song" by Hozier. 
> 
> This fic contains brief descriptions of scars, as well as brief, vague references to physical and emotional abuse, self-harm, and psychiatric hospitalization, in later chapters.
> 
> Thanks to Baelkaz, grandfatherclock, and smokeandjollyranchers for beta'ing.
> 
> — Christine and Shay

Caleb is getting ready for his day, brushing his teeth and getting dressed and grabbing his laptop before he heads downstairs, when he hears the voice.

It’s coming from downstairs. A woman’s voice, singing high and sweet. It’s not _ Beauregard, _ that’s for damn sure — Caleb loves her like a sister but she cannot sing. This is...beautiful, almost ethereal. Like magic.

He descends the stairs as quietly as he can, trying not to draw attention to himself and interrupt.

Beauregard is reclining back on their living room couch, grinning widely as she gestures for her new friend to keep singing. "Come on, just sing a bit more," she wheedles, sitting forward and bracing herself on her knees.

The woman laughs loudly, and then she speaks: "I usually charge for my shows, _ Beau," _ and her Nicodrani accent comes through loud and clear. But then she’s singing again, and it’s that same beautiful sound that carries through the whole house.

Caleb stops at the foot of the stairs and just...watches. He can see the back of a woman’s head with blue hair tumbling down to about shoulder length, and a slender body with gentle curves. She continues singing, though she flips Beau off and interrupts herself a few times with bright laughter. 

Beau, who notices Caleb, quirks a brow at him and seems to say with her eyes _ can you believe this shit? _ But the blue-haired woman doesn’t seem to have noticed Beau’s distraction.

Caleb stays there until the song seems to be finished. Then, feeling entirely clumsy and out of place, he crosses the room to join Beau on the couch.

"That was beautiful," is all he gets out before he actually sees the singer's face.

Jester jumps a little, laughing loudly at herself for being startled. She turns to face the man — who she pretty much assumes is Beau’s roommate Caleb — and clears her throat, cheeks flushing a bit as she steps toward the couch and extends a hand while taking in the sight of him: a strong nose, long hair twisted into a bun, and _ pretty _ eyes. 

"Sorry, Beau was being _ real _ pushy," she says with a bright smile. "I’m Jester Lavorre. I _ promise _ I don’t just randomly sing all the time in people’s homes, okay?" 

Caleb stares at her. Takes the hand she offers out of instinct more than anything, clasps it quickly and then draws back. She is...fuck, she's as beautiful as her voice.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Caleb," he manages. "Don't apologize, it was...a nice surprise."

Jester grins, dropping down into the seat across from them as Beau shoots Caleb a smirk. 

"I told you Caleb writes all our shit, right?" Beau nods toward her roommate. "He’s got a dope voice too, but he mainly just writes." 

Jester’s eyes light up. _ "You _ write everything?" she breathes, leaning toward him as her whole face practically glows with excitement. "Shit — I mean, fuck, well — I _ love _ your music. Like, holy shit."

He can feel a blush rising in his cheeks. "Oh. Um. Thanks." _ Oh, um, thanks? Really? _ "You are, um...a musician too?" Scheisse, he's certainly _ talking _ like an eloquent writer, isn't he.

Jester nods, picking at one of the rips in her dark jeans as she watches him. "Mhm, yeah, I mean — I play keyboard, or whatever, and I obviously sing. I’ve always wanted to write but turns out it’s really fucking hard." She grins a little. "Well, maybe not for you. Your stuff is _ awesome." _

"Writing is always hard." Caleb runs a hand through his hair. "I have always thought performing is the really difficult thing. It takes, um, a lot of courage to get out on a stage." 

Has she noticed that he's staring? He should probably stop staring. Probably...look...somewhere else. He glances around the room and fixes his gaze on the guitar case leaned up against the corner of the wall. That's...a thing. He can stare at that.

Jester laughs, tucking that blue hair behind her ear. She follows his gaze, a bit confused as to why he’s staring at the guitar case. Maybe he’s going to offer to play for them? "Performing is so _ easy _ though. You just get up there, sing, you know, _ do-do-doo-doo, _ and then people either hate it or they love it." She does a stupid little dance in her chair at the do-do-doo-doo because _ of course _ she does.

Caleb finds himself smiling. "I can't imagine you get a lot of people hating it," he murmurs. Then he gives Beau a _ look, _ one that he hopes plainly reads, _ Why is she in our house? _

Beau just shoots him back a neutral expression, though her lips are beginning to twist on a smirk. _ Wouldn’t you like to know. _

Jester laughs again. "I mean, they let me play and record so I guess it’s going okay. Although, I haven’t, like, _ toured _ like you guys." Her cheeks go hot and she stares at Caleb for a moment. He’s distracting, with all those freckles and his piercing gaze. If he smiles again she’s worried she might forget what she’s saying.

Caleb doesn't know what makes him say it. It's absurd, it's ludicrous, she's going to laugh at him. _ Beauregard _ is going to laugh at him. But it comes out anyway. 

"You should tour with us."

Jester doesn’t laugh. Instead, she’s staring at Caleb with huge eyes. "You — you think I’m good enough to tour with _ you guys?" _ she manages in a voice that sounds as dazed as she feels. Normally she’s all about acting confident, not showing the world an inch of self-doubt — but they’re _ incredible. _ She’s loved their music a long time, and to have the _ writer _ of said music compliment her...wow.

Beau is giving Caleb a _ look. _ "Just come right out and say it, why don’t you. I was going to _ warm her up _ to the idea before I just whipped it out, Jesus, Caleb."

He lets out an awkward little laugh. "Well. We have no one to open for us yet. Why not?" He glances at Jester. "You have a wonderful voice. Beauregard obviously thinks you are good enough, or she would not be secretly auditioning you here without telling any of us." He's babbling, this is nonsense, he's only half paying attention to Beauregard at all. Jester's wide eyes and the echo of her soft singing voice have a hold on him that he can't seem to pull away from.

Jester continues staring at him. Her cheeks are washed in color by now, and her lips are tugging into a _ huge _ smile. _ You have a wonderful voice. _ She knows she’s good, she really does — she couldn’t have gotten this far without talent — but it’s another thing entirely to hear it from other musicians. People she’s admired for ages. "Are you — are you joking? Of course I would, I mean, holy shit, I don’t know who I have to talk to or — would I need to audition for you guys or — "

Beau sends Caleb another considering look as Jester begins rambling happily. 

"Probably...we should talk to everyone else, ja?" Caleb asks Beau. "And..." 

He has no idea, if he were to be entirely honest. He hasn't even heard any of Jester's actual music. Doesn't know if her sound and style are anything like theirs. Or what her act is like, her stage presence, anything like that. But Beauregard just said she was already going to ask her — it can't be such a terrible idea, right?

He swallows and waits for Beauregard to rescue him here.

Beau decides to show Caleb some mercy, though something about the gleam in her eye hints that she’s going to be interrogating him later. "Yeah, I just wanted to hear you myself before I brought it up to the group. Your music is great, Jess, and I think you’d get along with us pretty fucking well." Beau shoots Caleb the _ quickest _ glance. "Let us talk to Cad, he's our manager, and ask the others and shit. We’re all meeting up later tonight."

Jester beams at them both. "Okay, yeah, _ totally, _well — you have my number, you know, just like, call or whatever I’ll — " She stands up, grabbing her purse. It’s decorated to look like a donut with sprinkles. It's adorable. "Just let me know so I can talk to my manager too, okay?"

Beau smirks a little. "Caleb, walk Jester out. I’ll text the others."

_ Danke, Beauregard, _ he thinks, resisting the urge to glare at her as he stands and shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. He starts wandering vaguely towards the front door, giving Jester plenty of time to follow him.

Jester trails half a step behind him, watching the way his shoulders fill the narrow hallway. _ Oh. That’s — that’s nice, _ she thinks, but quickly pushes the thought away, cheeks going hot. "Thanks, Cayleb, seriously. It — it would be so cool to tour with you guys."

He smiles down at her as they reach the door. "We would love to have you. Who are you signed with?" This is safe ground, talking about labels and producers and studios. Caleb forgets to open the door for her as they stand there for a few minutes and trade industry small talk.

_ "CALEB," _ Beau shouts from the living room after almost ten minutes of them standing in the hallway, chatting about nothing. 

Jester jumps, sending a guilty glance back the way they came. "Shit, sorry, I’m talking your ear off. You have to tell me to be quiet or I can just talk _ all day." _ She hesitates, then leans forward to whisper, "I won’t talk so much on tour. It’ll be like I’m not even there, so don’t let this dissuade you from bringing me along." She grins up at him.

"No, it's...nice," Caleb manages. "Um. See you later, then. I hope." 

He opens the door for her. 

Jester pauses, and then leans in for the _ quickest _ hug. It’s so fast Caleb could’ve missed it if he’d blinked, but the warmth of her arms wrapping around his waist for a _ split second _ is impossible to mistake as anything else. 

"Bye, I’ll see you guys soon!" she throws over her shoulder before bouncing down the stairs toward her car. 

He watches her go for a second before closing the door and leaning his back against it. It feels like all the breath has left his body — and like all the life has just gone from the whole house. He can still feel her hug.

...Oh, god, he does not want to go back in the other room and face Beauregard.

"Get the fuck in here, Widogast," Beau calls out, like she can sense him wanting to run away and hide from her.

Caleb closes his eyes briefly in a hopeless wince. Then he heads back to the living room, avoiding Beau's eyes, grabbing his laptop back from the bottom step of the stairs where he left it earlier as he stood captivated by Jester's voice.

"You could have given me a heads up," he says mildly as he finds a place to sit on the steps.

"You wouldn’t have come downstairs if I’d told you I was bringing someone over," Beau argues, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him. "You should _ tour with us? _ I’ve at least seen her videos, and I was going to show _ you _ them too, but _ you should tour with us?" _

She raises her brows at him and waits.

He meets her gaze evenly. "Was I wrong?"

"No," she admits with a huff. "She’s pretty fucking good. Fun show, good energy. Cali sent me some of her videos and they’re _ great." _ Something in Beau’s expression softens, just a little. "She’s got a pretty incredible voice, huh?" 

"Ja, I have not heard anyone like her before," Caleb replies honestly. "Did you meet through Calianna then?" 

He's already stuck one earbud into his ear and now he's typing _ Jester Lavorre _ into YouTube, entirely because he wants to check out her music and not at all because he wants to be able to stare unapologetically at her face.

"Yeah, I told Cali I was trying to think of someone for our opening act and she told me about Jester. I definitely owe her a fruit basket or some shit. Jester's _ perfect." _She continues to watch him, attempting to keep her expression neutral. "She’s pretty, too."

"She's very pretty," murmurs Caleb absent-mindedly as he scrolls through the search results that have come up. Jester has _ a lot _ of videos. He clicks on a few, listens to thirty seconds or so, moves on to another, even as he's half-listening to Beauregard. Jester's sound is great, her voice is _ stunning, _ her videos are shot well, everything looks professional and polished despite the fact that she's clearly performing in her bedroom in most of them. Why doesn't she have more views? There's a few hundred hits on each video — there should be _ thousands. _

Beau stares at him for a long moment.

"Alright, well, if she comes with you know she’s going to be around...all the time."

Caleb glances up at her. "That is generally how touring works, ja." He pauses. "Are you implying something?"

She gives him a _ look. _

"What," he asks with a hint of wry disbelief, "are you concerned I am going to _ make a move _ on her? Really?"

Beau’s expression settles into something more serious. "No, I think it’s a lot more likely that you’ll sit in silence and suffer through a giant crush on her. I just want you to...I don’t know man, I’m just saying it’s a lot of time together."

Caleb manages a small smile. "I don't fall in love. Little too broken for that." 

Before Beau can reply he stands up and grabs his guitar from the corner. 

"Let me know what the others say, ja? I am going to try to fix this fucking song." He's been stuck on a pre-chorus and chorus for three weeks now, maybe longer, and it's the perfect excuse to lock himself in his bedroom upstairs and ignore Beau and everyone else for the rest of the day.

Beau lets him slip out of the room and just stares at her phone for a long moment. _ This is a bad idea, _ she thinks to herself, but she sends a link to Jester’s YouTube channel to the Mighty Nein group chat and types: _ Check this out. _

By the end of the day they’ve got a new opening act.

_ to be continued _


	2. Chapter 2

It’s the very first night of the Mighty Nein’s tour. Their second tour, technically, but Jester's first. Ever. There’s about ten minutes until she's expected to walk on stage and warm the crowd up, get them all excited — and she is going to pass out.

She leans against the wall, just to the side of the stage, and tries to collect herself, tries to slow her breathing down. People rush by and don’t seem to pay her much mind, which is definitely better for her. 

"Fuck," she whispers out loud, hands moving to press into her face but she can’t even do that without risking ruining her makeup and she’s supposed to  _ perform _ in front of a giant fucking crowd of people here to see the Mighty Nein and she’s never  _ toured _ like this before and — "Fuck. Fuck. Balls."

Caleb catches sight of her as he's helping Yeza with their various amps and pedals and mics and all the other things you have to set up behind the scenes of a tour gig. This isn't technically his job — it's Yeza who officially handles all of their equipment and sound systems, who gets  _ paid  _ for it anyway — but Caleb has always felt a little useless backstage otherwise. He's not a performer, he doesn't even do publicity stuff, he's got to contribute  _ somehow.  _ It's not like sitting around writing songs helps during the actual tour.

Setting down the auxiliary cord he's holding, he walks over to put a reassuring hand on Jester's arm. "You okay?"

Jester tries to laugh but it comes out sounding choked. "Yeah — I’m —" 

The words die in her throat and then she’s just staring up at Caleb, panic clear and bright in her eyes. She shakes her head, just once, and can’t seem to look away from him.  _ I’m going to let you guys down. I can’t do this. No one is going to like it. _

Caleb slips his arm around her shoulders. "You are going to be spectacular," he tells her with a small smile. "I have seen you perform a dozen times. Just pretend you are rehearsing with us."

She immediately plasters herself to his side, trying to steady herself with his warmth. Caleb has proven to be a quiet source of strength, someone who won’t speak for an afternoon but when he does the others  _ listen. _ Jester trusts him already. If he thinks she’s going to do well, he’s probably right. 

_ Unless you’ve got him fooled, _ her brain supplies cruelly.

"What if I suck? What if I get up there and I fucking trip, Caleb?" Her hand grips at the back of his shirt and she sucks in a trembling breath.

"Then you trip. Laugh it off, and they will laugh along." 

He gives her a squeeze. Thinks of the past few weeks, as they've all gotten to know her, getting ready for this tour or just hanging out. She's played for the Mighty Nein — they've even worked on a few songs that she's going to perform with them every night in addition to her own set — and almost right up until leaving for tour this weekend she was still playing gigs here and there in Zadash. Caleb has snuck into a few of them, just in bars or tiny crowded venues, places where he has a good chance of going unnoticed if he stays in the back where it's dark. 

Over the past ten years or so, he's probably seen hundreds of live acts, either in recording studios or at actual shows, and he's not sure he's ever seen someone with the same easy, intimate, irresistible charm as Jester when she's performing. She makes her audiences feel like they're part of an inside joke, like she's just goofing around with them in the comfort of their living room or on the back porch. When she is comfortable and confident she is the most natural performer he's ever witnessed.

He shakes her by the shoulders just a tiny bit. "You are  _ good. _ I will be back here watching. Blow them away, ja?"

She swallows hard, nods in agreement, and tries to remind herself that Caleb  _ picked her. _ Asked  _ her _ to tour with them. All of the Nein want her here. "Easy. Yep, easy, I’ll just blow them away because I’m super great. Yes." She pulls away, flushing a bit. "Sorry. Thanks, I’m fine, I promise it’s just —" She glances toward the stage. "It’s a lot."

"It is a lot," Caleb agrees. He rubs the back of his neck, gives her a wry smile. "That is why I don't do it."  _ Among other things. _ "You are all pretty brave."

"I don’t feel brave," she murmurs to herself, wiping her sweaty palms over the dress she’s chosen for the performance. Easy. Blow them away. She can do this.

Caleb hesitates. "I...saw your set last week, at the Vagrant. Think of it like that." He points out in the direction of the stage, where there are hundreds, maybe a thousand fans waiting. "Tiny little bar, thirty people listening. You can play to thirty people. Half of them are drunk and not even paying attention," he jokes.

She follows his finger, imagines that she’s stepping out onto a tiny stage with only a handful of people paying attention — until she begins singing. And then nobody looks away, so caught up in the music. 

Brightening, she turns back to smile up at him. "You came to watch me?" 

He nods, looking down at his feet, nudging a random cable on the floor with his toe. "Ja, I had a free night. You sounded great." He hopes it's too dark back here behind the stage for her to catch his blush.

"You should’ve  _ told _ me, I would’ve brought you backstage to the shitty little room to meet the Pumats!" she replies easily, reaching up to give his arm a friendly touch. She can feel something settling in her chest, calming her racing heart. He wanted to see her play. He likes her music  _ that much. _

Jester's manager is beckoning to her. It's time. 

"Thanks, Cayleb," she whispers, smiling up at him, her cheeks red. "I won’t embarrass you guys, I promise."

Caleb rests his hand on her upper back for a moment. "Good luck," he smiles. He hopes Beau isn't back here watching him, with that knowing smirk she's been wearing  _ a lot _ lately. 

And with that, Jester’s shoulders square and her face switches from nervous to a confident, bright grin. She’s  _ glowing. _ "See you on the other side," she throws over her shoulder as she bounds away from him, toward her manager who is smiling encouragingly.

She gives him one more smile and a wave before she’s stepping out onto the stage.

Caleb stands there and watches her from the wings, as the crowd goes wild. Her first song hits them like a brick wall and he can see the stage fright slipping from her shoulders like a discarded cloak as she comes into her own, as her voice wakes up and her energy builds. He watches until Yeza taps his shoulder to get a little more help setting up their sound system, and then he works in silence, listening to Jester and feeling like he's out there in the crowd.

He is grateful, he thinks, that no one besides Beauregard seems to have noticed his attraction to Jester. Or at least no one has  _ mentioned  _ it. It's not like he has been trying very hard to hide it, he would be forced to admit. But there's nothing wrong with a little crush, is there? It is not going to become anything more than that. He knows better. 

And even if it did...even if he could  _ ever  _ deserve her, in what universe would Jester Lavorre look twice at  _ him?  _ She's about to spend three months performing every night with Fjord, the most confident, charismatic person Caleb has probably ever met. There's a reason he's the band's frontman — it's not just his raw talent, it's the way he seems to draw people's attention like a magnet. And then there's Beauregard, of course, who makes up for her occasional lack of smooth social skills with what Mollymauk has termed "the ballsiest flirting they've ever had the privilege of getting cockblocked by." And Mollymauk themself, who once got a fan to follow them back to their hotel room with nothing but a wink from across a crowded bar. That  _ happened.  _

Caleb doesn't know which way or ways Jester might lean, but he's pretty damn sure it's not going to be towards the anxious, awkward writer who's so performance-shy that he can't even play new songs for his actual band. He has to record demo tracks for the Mighty Nein in his bedroom. It's a wonder they put up with him, honestly.

So no, this is never going to be more than a crush. He will enjoy it while it lasts, and then it will pass, as they all do, and he'll get back to real life. Or faking it, anyway.

Jester finishes her set about thirty minutes later, sweat beading along her hairline, cheeks flushed and a happy smile on her lips. She feels drunk in the way she always does after a really good performance, and she’s laughing as she stumbles backstage. 

Caleb is smiling. Can't really stop. "Told you," he murmurs as he watches her approach, and two words are stuck in his head, the way it sometimes happens when he's got just the seed of a lyric waiting to germinate into a song.  _ Sunshine, _ it whispers,  _ darling. _

"You were _totally_ _right,"_ she yells back as she grabs him in a huge hug. She’s breathless, trembling from the adrenaline of performing for a crowd that huge, a crowd that had _loved her._ "Why was I so nervous, what the fuck!" She laughs into his chest and squeezes him tight before pulling away. 

"Welcome to touring," Caleb smiles down at her. Oh, god, she makes him feel  _ warm. _ He doesn't  _ quite _ let her go, keeps one hand lightly against the small of her back, casual and easy. "You get to do this every night for the next three months. It will get boring by the end."

The venue's emcee is welcoming the Mighty Nein onto the stage now, and Caleb sees Beauregard throw a wink at him before she heads out. He resists the urge to scowl at her.

"I don’t think so. I feel  _ drunk,"  _ Jester giggles, her arm sneaking around his waist and tugging him with her to get a better view of the stage. "Let’s watch them! I have like, forty minutes before I have to get back out there."

He follows her, and they spend the better part of an hour enjoying their own private show from behind the stage. Caleb has already seen the Mighty Nein perform his songs dozens of times, this isn't anything new for him...but watching it with Jester at his side, so awake and alive and full of excitement, with stars in her eyes, warm and soft next to him?

He knows what she means about feeling drunk.

_ to be continued _


	3. Chapter 3

Three months later is their last show of the tour.

They're playing at a sold out theatre in Rosohna, and although they're all pretty exhausted by now, there's something about the _ last show _ that has injected some fresh energy into all of their veins. Caleb can see it in Fjord, in Beauregard, in Nott and Yasha, in Mollymauk, and especially in Jester, who is practically bouncing off the walls today. Even Caduceus seems refreshed in his own placid, comfortable way.

Caleb wonders if they're all hiding a little bit of disappointment at having to go home tomorrow and get back to real life. Not that they're all immediately heading back to Zadash — he knows that Nott and Yeza are going right off to vacation somewhere on the Menagerie Coast, and Beau is probably going to hang out in Rosohna for a couple more days.

Not Caleb, though. As much as he enjoys touring — and he really _ does, _ more than he ever thought he would before their first tour a few years ago — he misses his quiet, safe, familiar bedroom at home, and he misses his cat, and he misses being _ alone. _

He wonders what Jester misses.

Jester is loitering around backstage, killing time before the start of the _ last show. _ The last three months have been...insane. Absolutely, completely insane, and also the best three months of her entire life. She’s fallen in love with this group of people, realized that she _ adores _ touring with them, has never had so much fun performing and making music than with this little family she’s forced her way into. It’s a sad thing, knowing the end is here when she isn’t quite ready to let it go.

She’s saved from her depressing thoughts by the sight of Caleb, and she bounds up to him and practically tackles him from behind. "Hey!" she cheerfully yells into his back, words muffled by his shirt.

"Hey." Instinctively his hands go to hers where she's gripping him around the waist. "You are a force of nature today, you know that?"

"Are you saying I’m not a force of nature _ every day?" _ she jokes, still not moving from behind him. 

Somehow in the last three months she’s found herself growing — really _ attached _ to him. She‘s seated at his side more often than not when they go out after a show, ends up squeezed into his side on the tour bus couch early in the morning (or late at night depending on how you look at time), is always aware of where he’s at when they’re getting ready for a show. She loves all of the Mighty Nein so much, but Caleb is her _ favorite. _ Not that she’d _ ever _ tell anyone else that.

Caleb smiles. (It is _ unfair _ how she can always make him smile.) "Every day," he murmurs. "Terrifying and chaotic. As you know very well." He squeezes her back, and then tries to turn around so he can see her, if she'll even let him move.

_ I don't fall in love. Little too broken for that. _ His words to Beauregard from months ago have been reverberating in his heart over and over again recently...mostly because he's been learning, to his horror, that they were a lie. 

Well, half a lie. He is far too broken for love, that part is true. But he seems to have found himself falling into it anyway.

Jester is...a breath of clear, cold, fresh air. She is _ light. _ Around her it's like he's become another person, someone who laughs, someone who comes alive, who feels a strange buoyancy of courage and confidence that he had thought was lost far, far back in his past. Jester is _ kind. _ She's clever and brave and funny and exciting and beautiful but more than anything she is _ kindness. _

He doesn't deserve it. She can't know, after only three months, how much Caleb _ doesn't deserve it. _ But he basks in it selfishly anyway, and all of his notebooks are filled with words about _ her. _

Jester does let him turn around, but then she just hides her face in his chest and hugs him some more. She’s been fine about the end of tour up until today, too tired and distracted to really notice, but now she feels the loss like a heavy weight in her chest. In a few days, she's going home to Nicodranas to spend some time with her mama and maybe work on some songwriting (which she is still terrible at). It will be nice, of course, but she's not going to see her friends every day, or share meals with them, or _ anything. _ She...nearly wishes she has never had a taste of this life with them, because losing it is going to _ fucking suck. _

"Yeah, well, you know." She tries to laugh but she just keeps her face hidden for a little longer.

Caleb rubs her back. "We will miss this, won't we?" he asks softly. "Till next time." 

He reminds himself that Jester lives in Zadash, that she will be back after she takes a break back home with her mother, that they are still going to see each other all the time. They have to. It won't be the same, of course, but...maybe that will be for the better. Maybe the only reason he thinks he is in love with her is because they have been thrown together into this strange, wild, intense intimacy that comes with living together on a tour bus with no space or privacy or time apart. Maybe his heart will calm down once he's not seeing Jester every day.

The thought is sickening.

"Next time," she echoes softly, hating how tears are burning in her eyes. Just because this chapter is closing doesn’t mean that everything has to change, that the Nein are suddenly going to stop wanting her around. She knows she’ll see them when she’s back home. They’ve already talked about meeting up in a few months when everyone settles back in Zadash. 

Finally she pulls away, wiping at her cheeks and feeling foolish. "It’s just been really great. I love traveling with you guys." Jester tries to smile but she probably just looks sad, her gaze locking on his chest and she sniffles a little, feeling pathetic. Whatever, it’s not like Caleb cares if she’s a mess. He’s used to it. "Most fun I’ve ever had, you know?"

"Me too," smiles Caleb, and he leans forward and gives her a little kiss on the forehead. "I am glad you decided to come with us. Smart decision, Lavorre."

She looks up at him. He’s so _ familiar _ to her now, the way his hair falls in front of his face sometimes, the way he can smile without using his lips. Her heart aches, just a little. 

"I don’t want to talk about sad shit anymore, so you should distract me," she tells him, wiping one last time at her eyes.

Caleb thinks about kissing her. Really kissing her, kissing her mouth, showing her how much she means to him even after such a short time, how he can't imagine his life without her these days. Threading his fingers into her hair, holding her close, and proving without words how much he wants to be _ hers. _

He blinks, and it's gone. Just a fantasy.

"Play me what you were working on yesterday," he says instead. "You said you were stuck on the bridge, but the rest was really working."

She latches on to the change in conversation, brightening even as she rolls her eyes. "It just isn’t _ fitting together, _ Caleb, I don’t know how you make songs do what they’re supposed to." 

"You fight with them for months," laughs Caleb. "Writing is _ wrestling, _ Jester, you are doing it exactly right." Privately he thinks there's nothing more adorable than a frustrated Jester who's just about ready to tear her writing notebook into thousands of tiny pieces. But he's not going to tell her that.

Jester gives a frustrated groan, and then she's grabbing his arm and hauling him away from the stage, from the sadness of the tour ending, from all of it. Just her and Caleb distracting themselves for a few hours sounds _ way better. _ She leads him into the backrooms the venue has designated for the performers, past Beau and Fjord who are talking quietly on a couch. Doesn't notice, as she babbles about her latest song to Caleb, the way Fjord's eyes follow her, or the way Beau _ stares _ at Caleb like she’s trying to tell him something.

Eventually Jester pushes through another door and brings them into a dressing room with a small couch, her notebook, and laptop. "Can’t you just finish it for me? You’re the one who’s good at this," she complains, dropping back onto the sofa. 

Caleb shakes his head. "It won't be _ yours _ if I write it." There's a little smile playing about his lips. "It should be yours. You will feel prouder of it afterwards, when it's done." He grabs his guitar from its case and sits down on the other side of the sofa, taking a minute to tune quickly. "Go on, show me."

She gives an annoyed huff, getting up and heading toward the keyboard that she's had set up in here to mess around on between sets. "Yeah, yeah, _ prouder _ but is it worth losing my mind?" 

Just as she places her fingers on the keys, she pauses, glancing over at Caleb. There's something she's been wanting to ask him for nearly the whole tour, and right now is one of the only private moments they've had together in a long time.

"Caleb?" she murmurs, her gaze trained on him.

He's tuning the last string, concentrating on the pitch, and barely catches her quiet question. "Hmm?"

"Would you — would you write a song for me?"

Caleb's fingers still on the strings. Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn't _ that. _ His mind has suddenly gone frighteningly blank. _ All of my songs lately are for you, _he thinks, and he has to take a moment to swallow and get his senses back under him. "For...for you to sing?"

She nods, her hands twisting nervously together behind her back. "Yeah, you know — like the ones you write for the Nein but...for me." She flushes a little, adding, "Of course like — not for _ free. _ I’d pay you, and stuff, or if you don’t _ want to — " _

"I won't do it for pay." Caleb's pulse is fluttering wildly as he gives a quick strum on his guitar, testing the sound. "You are my — one of my best friends, Jester. You get your songs for free."

Jester’s whole body feels warm and floaty at his words. She crosses the small room again, bracing a hand on his shoulder as she leans down and presses a lightning quick kiss to his cheek. "You’re the _ best," _ she breathes out around a laugh, turning and moving to take her place back at the keyboard. "I’m not getting free labor. I’ll just like, slip money under your pillow or some shit."

Caleb chuckles to himself. He'll just spend the money on her, if she insists on paying him anything. But that can wait till later. 

"What kind of song do you want?" he asks, thinking back on Jester's repertoire. It's mostly covers still as she finds her feet as a writer, though she brings her own unique twist even to other people's music, but Caleb has a sense of what kind of themes she enjoys. Some are love songs, some are anthems of self-confidence, some are just sugary fluffy nonsense that she nonetheless infuses with importance. He's never heard Jester sing anything _ sad, _ or even vaguely angst-ridden. This will be an interesting challenge — he can't remember the last time he wrote anything that was 100% happy.

Jester shrugs. "I don't know," she replies, setting her writing notebook up on the keyboard and flipping to the page she’s been scribbling ideas on. It’s covered in her scrawl, the page messy and disorganized. It’s better this way, if she creates chaos and then finds threads of words to pull for music. Trying to sit down and simply write out a song never works for her. _ "Anything _ if you’re writing it," she adds. "Maybe something...soft?" 

"Something soft." Caleb smiles. "I can do that." _ No shit, Widogast, _ he imagines Beauregard scoffing.

Jester grins a little. "Or something like, heavy metal. Maybe I’ll change my sound, give my new fans a surprise." Ever since the tour her following has...rapidly grown. She’s gained _ tons _ of new followers on Instagram and Twitter, and her YouTube video hits have increased too. It’s been — amazing. And terrifying.

She slams her hands a few times on the keyboard, making a terrible sound.

_ "Scheisse," _ blurts out Caleb, and then he laughs out loud. "Come on, Lavorre, let's get to work."

He listens to her as she plays and sings little fragments of ideas, and eventually he starts playing along once he's figured out the chords and rhythm she's going for. No, he's not going to write this _ for _ her, but he can _ help. _ Give her something to build off of, keep the song going for a bit while she thinks, play around with the melody a little bit. The minutes slip away, and he loses himself in the music, and in her. Forgets that this is their last day. Forgets that he hates to play in front of people. Forgets everything but Jester's voice. 

_to be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

It's six months later, a snowy day just after the New Year, when Jester stops by Beau and Caleb's house to drop off some recording equipment she borrowed. 

Caleb is stretched out on the sofa, book in hand, covered with a blanket, Frumpkin curled up asleep by his feet, when he hears Jester knock and let herself in with the keys she's had for ages. He lowers his book onto his chest and smiles. "Hey."

Jester lugs the equipment in behind her, leaving it (and her large jacket) in the hallway, before she slips off her shoes and pads on socked feet across the room toward Caleb and Frumpkin. 

"Hi there," she murmurs in a baby-talk voice, scratching at Frumpkin’s head. Then she glances up, finally catching Caleb’s eye. "You look cozy," she murmurs, a smirk pulling at her lips.

He watches her, one arm tucked behind his head, warmth glowing in his chest and limbs. Six months since their tour ended, and the feelings he's harbored for her have only gotten worse. He thinks she might be the best person he's ever met. He _ knows _ she's his _ favorite _person he's ever met. Being around her, knowing the privilege of her opening up to him and sharing her thoughts and hopes and fears, receiving her smiles and hearing her sing...it's worth the jealousy he feels every time he watches her on stage with Fjord, worth the dull pain of knowing that Caleb himself isn't good enough for her, worth the dim and heavy awareness that he has no idea how he will ever be able to get over her.

"You look cold," is what he says in response.

"I’m _ freezing," _ Jester agrees, grinning brightly down at him where he’s stretched out. She presses a knee into the couch, "Make room, Widogast." 

Things after their tour have gone differently than any of them expected, in ways both wonderful and bittersweet. Molly waited until they were all back home in Zadash to announce that they were leaving the Mighty Nein. There have been no hard feelings — they've all been supportive of Molly's decision to take their career solo, and Jester is excited for whenever their album comes out — but there's something about losing a band member that almost feels, strangely, like a death. It's a weird hole that gets left behind, and they've all had to relearn their group dynamic in its wake.

On the bright side, however, being down one singer/keyboardist/guitarist meant that the Mighty Nein needed to bring in someone new — and who else could they possibly ask, Caleb explained with a soft smile, but Jester?

It was one of the best days of her life. And now her friendship with all of them has only grown stronger, her place in their little family _ official _ and _ secure. _ She loves knowing that on any given day she can call up any one of them to hang out, to play music, to just talk. She especially loves the way Caleb has become her best friend, the person she spends the most time with. Something about them just...works. Her loud, boisterous behavior and his calm, steady personality just — _ fit. _

Caleb pulls up his knees so that there's room for Jester to sit just past his feet. "Do you want some coffee?" he asks, studying her face, the way her cheeks and nose are still rosy from the winter air outside. It makes her eyes look darker than they really are. He's written verses about her eyes — Fjord has _ sung _ them, for god's sake, and he hopes no one has picked up on where his inspiration came from.

Jester settles in at his feet, lifting the blanket to cover herself too. Then she’s leaning into his legs, shivering a bit as the heat of him chases away the chill. "No, I’m too frozen for coffee. Just let me be a sad little icicle, okay?" She sends him a small grin. "Did I interrupt your plans for a quiet afternoon?"

"I don't mind." Caleb pokes her with one socked foot. "Your interruptions are usually worth it." Frumpkin has woken up by now, and he climbs sleepily into Jester's lap, gives a fond _ mrrrep! _, and promptly falls back asleep.

Caleb watches them, and his heart settles.

Jester gently pets Frumpkin from head to tail, whispering a few quiet words in Nicodrani to him. Then she shoots Caleb a playful smile. "You think you like the quiet and then I show up and remind you that it’s _ way _ more fun to be with me." She grabs his foot under the blanket and gives it a squeeze.

_ That's about it, ja, _ Caleb thinks. 

He lays there for a few moments, contented, watching the woman he loves baby his cat, until a thought occurs to him that makes him sit up.

"This is good timing," he says, throwing the blanket off himself as he swings his feet over the edge of the sofa. He stands up and stretches a little. "Your song is done."

Jester stares at him.

"My —" She cuts off abruptly with a little gasp, her eyes going round. "My _ song? _ I thought you — "

She’d thought he’d _ forgotten, _ in all honesty. The transition of Jester replacing Molly has been distracting enough, and on top of that they've all been working on their next album. It's been a busy time for the whole Mighty Nein, especially Caleb.

He gives her an apologetic glance. "I didn't forget," he says quietly.

"Can I hear it?" Jester whispers, her eyes shining as she stares up at him. He _ remembered. _ Six months have passed and yet Caleb thought of her, took the time to write something just for her. Her heart gives a nervous little thump, the way it always seems to around him.

"Mhmm." Caleb sets down his book on the coffee table. "Be right back." And then he's heading upstairs towards his bedroom.

He's only _ slightly _ terrified, a tiny sliver of concern poking his heart like a splinter, that she might guess the meaning behind the lyrics he's about to sing for her. As he grabs his guitar and notebook from where he last tossed them onto his bed, he reassures himself that it isn't _ obvious. _ There are no gendered pronouns, nothing specific about Jester, it's just a generic love song. One that...happens to be completely about her. 

Well, she hasn't guessed with any of his other songs. (Nearly their whole album so far, which...should probably be more worrying than it is.) Or if she has, she hasn't said anything, and it hasn't _ changed _ them. Caleb wonders which theory he prefers, as he comes back downstairs and sits down on the couch by Jester to start tuning.

By now Jester has gently deposited Frumpkin on the couch next to her so that she can turn and give Caleb her full attention. Her body is thrumming with energy, tingles starting in her fingers as she watches him prepare to show her _ the song he wrote for her. _ (She makes a mental reminder to stop by an ATM before the next time she comes over, so she can slip some cash under his pillow or maybe into his notebook.) Grinning to herself, she waits, folding her legs underneath her.

Caleb clears his throat, already blushing; but he picks out the introduction with sure fingers, and then he adds his voice, soft and steady. 

It's a sweet, gentle melody, designed to be perfect for Jester's soprano. Caleb finds himself appreciating the excuse to look down at his notebook, laying there open on the coffee table in front of him with his handwritten lyrics, instead of having to glance at Jester even once while he sings. The words are all lightness and fondness and affection, just a glimpse of the sun-dappled surface of how he feels for her. He has tried, to the best of his ability, to distill something of the essence of dust drifting in sunlight, the sparkle in Jester's dark eyes, the aching tenderness that is evoked in his core by the sight of the freckles on her shoulders, the lilt of her laugh. And then he's been _ very _ careful to make sure it sounds plausible for _ her _to be singing this to some other person, some anonymous man who might be worthy of making her feel these things. 

As he sings, Jester is...incredibly glad he’s not looking at her, because she’s pretty sure there are tears rolling down her cheeks. Her vision feels like it’s gone fuzzy, and then narrowed, like there’s darkness forming along the edges of her sight and then there’s Caleb, the single _ brightly burning _ spot of light. She stares at him and thinks — _ oh. _

His warm, soft voice has always made her heart flutter, but it feels...different now. She’s never heard him like this — had half expected him to come downstairs with a recording on his laptop, honestly, the way he does with all the Mighty Nein's songs. But no, he's playing in front of her, singing for her, words he's written _ for her... _

It _ definitely _feels different now. Or maybe she’s always felt this way and now there’s just...a name for it.

When he finishes, Caleb goes silent for a few moments, unsure what happens next. He reaches down and slides the notebook over just a few inches closer to Jester on the coffee table. "Um. You can...change any of the lyrics, if you want, obviously."

Jester has no fucking idea what to do. Her body feels frozen — stuck between an urge to run for the front door, to get _ far away _ from this feeling, while the other half of her wants to press Caleb into the couch and kiss her thanks into his mouth. She’s never felt like this before about _ anyone. _ Never felt this roaring in her ears, like the waves in Nicodranas threatening to pull her under.

She wipes at her eyes, feeling like her very lungs are struggling to breathe under the intensity of this moment; and then, needing something to do with her hands, she picks up Caleb's notebook and starts thumbing through it. "No — no it’s — it’s so perfect, Caleb," she whispers, unable to look at him.

Caleb freezes. That's not — he hadn't meant — she wasn't supposed to —

_ Put it down! _ hisses his brain wildly, and he wants to snatch it out of her hands, but it's like time has suddenly rolled to a slow halt and he can't move or speak. Just stares, wide-eyed, at Jester _ looking through his songwriting notebook. _ The one filled with nine months of incomplete scribbling, fragments of lines and rhymes and poetry, _ all about her. _

_ Fuck. _

As Jester glances through the pages, scanning lyrics here and there to distract herself, there's a moment when her heart shatters a little. Caleb...is _ in love _ with someone. It's all in here, he’s written pages and pages about some woman who makes him feel inspired and warm and _ happy — _

And then the more she skims, the further she gets, she begins to realize that some of it sounds...familiar. Pieces of conversations that she and Caleb have had together. References to moments, places, events. Things that Caleb has said _ about _ her, to her _ face, _ stand out on the page like he’s written them in bold, like he’s gripping her shoulders and saying _ this is for you. _

"Um." Caleb finds his voice _ far _ too late. "That's...mostly just a lot of...old stuff..."

She can’t seem to move. She’s stuck, her eyes glued to the pages as she thinks — _ do you love me? Are these all...? _

Caleb holds out his hand for the notebook.

"Some of these we just recorded," Jester whispers, ignoring him. Her finger trails gently along one particular line that makes her chest ache. 

_ there is a time when nothing's spinning / and usually it's when i'm with you / the canvasses of silent beauty / are open to your nighttime blue _

It's a song on their upcoming album, one she knows well — she just _ sang _ it with Fjord a few weeks ago. Only the words were different then. There wasn't anything about _ blue, _there wasn't...

She flips back a few pages, her heart pounding, searching for other familiar lines, other places where Caleb may have _ changed _things.

Next to her, Caleb swallows. It feels like his heart is slowly sinking down through his whole body to reach his toes. "I...sometimes..." 

He trails off, speechless. Keeps his hand reaching out for her to hand the book back, like a fucking idiot, as if there's anything he could say or do now to rewind time and fix this.

Jester finally, _ finally _ raises her eyes to catch his gaze. She still seems oblivious to his hand outstretched for the book, too caught up in staring at him. "Who did you write these for?" she whispers, her fingers curling along the edge of the pages. 

He can feel his cheeks _ burning. _ "I don't..." He clears his throat again. Swallows _ again. _ "Lots of people. And...no one, sometimes. It is not always _ about _ someone." That's not _ entirely _ a lie, it's perfectly true as long as he's talking about his writing process... _ before _ meeting Jester...

Finally Jester closes the notebook and sets it carefully in Caleb's patient hand. She can barely breathe as she leans closer, seeing the way his face has gone pink, his eyes wide and panicking. Gods, she doesn’t want to freak him out, isn’t trying to make him uncomfortable, but she’s pretty fucking sure _ they’re in love. _

"Were — was I —" She hesitates. Continues to stare at him as her cheeks flame.

Caleb averts his gaze and instead rips out the page with the lyrics to her song, the one he's just played for her, and hands it to her. "I will get you the tabulature another time," he manages to force out, "I haven't finished writing it down yet." He stands up and pulls his guitar strap off his shoulders. "Um — thank you for bringing that amp and monitor back — "

Jester jumps up off the couch. "Caleb, _ wait —" _

And then she’s reaching for him, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. She gazes up at him, face flushed and glowing and _ hopeful, _ and decides to take a leap of faith. To risk ruining everything between them _ and _ the band. To just...try.

"Tell me you wrote those for me," she murmurs, gazing up at him.

Caleb goes still, staring down at her, and forgets how to speak for a moment again. Then he turns and carefully sets his guitar on the couch. "Ja, I did," he says softly.

"Okay," she whispers back, taking another small step toward him. She’s closed the distance between them now, has them so close that she can feel the warmth radiating from him. "You’re going to kiss me now, okay?"

"Jester..." Caleb whispers, regret tightening his chest. "That is not..."

She watches him, eyes trailing along his face, and memorizes this moment: the way her stomach flips at the blue of his eyes, the dark copper of his hair. How could it have taken this long to figure it out? Is she that _ stupid? _

Gently, she grabs his hand. "Don’t you want to?" she murmurs back, brows furrowing in confusion.

He nods wordlessly. He can't deny her that.

Jester raises his hand and presses it carefully to her cheek. Her whole world has shifted in an afternoon, but if she gets _ him _ at the end of this...well, she’s willing to do nearly anything. "And I want you to. So there’s really no reason _ not _ to," she whispers, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile.

Caleb leans down and kisses her without further protest, grabbing onto her waist as much to ground himself as to pull her close. Everything feels just a little bit like it's floating, or like he's still daydreaming and he'll be snapped out of it in a few seconds. But he isn't. He keeps kissing her, and it doesn't end. Jester's hands reach up to twist into his hair, threading through the soft strands.

She loses herself in his touch. She’s barely ever kissed anyone, and she’s certainly never kissed anyone she’s _ loved _ before. It's a bit like missing a step going down stairs, the way her stomach drops, but in a _ good _way.

She never wants to regain her footing. Wants to feel like this _ forever. _

When Caleb finally pulls back to catch his breath, he can feel the pinprick of tears behind his eyes. "You are incredible," he whispers. "I wish I could...be with you, Jester." His hands have slid up a little bit to her ribcage and he strokes gently with his thumbs, resting his forehead against hers.

"Caleb," she whispers back, blinking up at him with confusion in her eyes. "You — I mean, unless I misunderstood your lyrics and _ that kiss, _ I..." 

She shivers. His hands are distracting and hot over her sweater. She wonders how wonderful it would feel to have them on her bare skin.

_ Focus. Convince Caleb to date you first. _

"I love you," Caleb tells her. Might as well go all-in, he thinks dully — it's not like she can't put two and two together, or more like two hundred and two hundred — and besides, no matter how shitty this conversation is about to go, he wants to make sure that she leaves here knowing _ that _ without a doubt. He shuts his eyes and holds her a little closer, their noses almost touching. "You did not misunderstand anything."

Jester gently rubs her nose against his, trying to make him smile, to force away the apprehension and misery she can see in his face. "Good. That’s _ good, _ Caleb, so why do you look so sad?" 

One of her hands slips from his hair and moves to his jaw. She'll tell him she loves him back in a minute, tell him _ exactly _how she feels. But first she wants to let him share his fears, his concerns, because she knows him well enough to know that this isn't easy for him. 

He kisses her again — steals one more indulgence before he has to explain exactly why he's too broken, far too damaged, to be in a relationship. Why she should find someone worthy of her light, someone who can actually _ give _ to her and not just _ take. _ Caleb trails his hands up her arms to cradle her neck and face, gentle and slow, and he blocks out the sick dread of the minutes to come for just a few moments longer, giving in to the soft taste of her lips.

Jester makes a little sound against his him, pressing in and taking more — _ more _ of his kiss, his touch, his warmth. She’s melting underneath his attention, and now she vaguely starts wondering how she can get him upstairs, or if they could just make out on the couch until Beau gets home. 

Finally Caleb breaks off the kiss. It takes every scrap of self control he's ever had. He reaches down and takes Jester's hand, and, wondering if his voice sounds as heavy as the rest of him feels, murmurs, "Here, sit down with me."

_ to be continued _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains brief descriptions of scars, as well as brief, vague references to physical and emotional abuse, self-harm, and psychiatric hospitalization.

Jester follows him, clutching his hand tight, and doesn’t let him pull away even once they’re settled on the couch. Then she tucks her legs up underneath her, her knees pressing into his thighs as she gazes at him, and leans in, presses a soft kiss to his cheek, then his jaw.

Caleb pulls back just a bit, stops her. "That has to be the last time," he says, his voice barely strong enough to get above a whisper.

"What?" Jester whispers back, her heart giving a painful thump. "But you — you just  _ said —" _

"I said I wish I could be with you." He squeezes her hand. "But I...I can't, Jester. I don't...work like that."

Her brow furrows and she stares at him, her eyes huge and unblinking.  _ But — but we're in love,  _ she thinks somewhat stupidly.

"I don’t...Caleb, I don’t understand," she murmurs back, her voice thick.

He sighs, letting go of her hand so that he can push his sleeve up a little. In the back of his mind he always knew that they'd have this conversation one day, but he'd hoped...

Well. It doesn't matter what he'd hoped. He rarely gets what he hopes anyway.

"I know you have noticed before," he murmurs, showing her his forearm.

Jester swallows. She  _ has  _ noticed. The faint scars and burn marks covering Caleb's arm, his wrist, even a few spots on his hand...she's caught glimpses of them before, just small moments here and there, but she has never allowed herself to stare. She's certainly never  _ asked  _ about them — and Caleb has never, not once, acknowledged a single one.

Now Jester swallows, her fingers itching to reach out and touch but — something makes her pause. She thinks of the way Caleb had pulled away from her kiss, the way he looks so miserable, and...he won't appreciate being touched right now, she realizes. So she just runs her eyes along his marred skin. "Only a few times," she murmurs.

He nods, rolling his sleeve back down. "My uncle — "

Then he pauses. Shifts a little on the couch so he can look her straight in the eye.

"No one knows this," he tells her quietly. "Only Nott and Beauregard. No one  _ can _ know."

Jester stares at him. "I won’t say anything," she whispers back, dread curling low in her stomach. She’s not sure what Caleb is about to share, but something tells her it isn’t going to be easy to hear.

Caleb nods again. Then — selfishly, because he  _ needs _ it, needs something to hold onto and draw a little courage from — he takes her hand once more.

"My uncle taught me how to hurt myself," he tells her in a low murmur, staring at their hands. "He told me lies about my parents and — he — I — " 

Caleb swallows hard, forces his voice to stop shaking. 

"He would make me...play with fire, and when I was fourteen he told me to set fire to my house, and I did." 

Jester sits frozen, her hand clenching tight around his as she gazes at his face. Words are flitting through her brain and right back out as quickly as they’d come and she has no idea what to say. She knows that Caleb's parents died a long time ago, in some kind of accident, but...but…

There's nothing she  _ can  _ say. So she just stares at him, gripping his hand back hard.

He glances at her face — and then has to glance away again, because he can't...he can't keep going if he lets himself dwell on that look, that look of  _ disappointment. _ Blinking harshly against the pressure behind his eyes, he continues.

"He, um, my uncle...showed me how to do it so that no one would..." Caleb coughs self-consciously. "It looked like an accident. And then he took me in. I went to a good school, a private fine arts school, where he was on the board and nobody asked any questions, or if they did they would be quietly shut down. And I stayed there until I was nearly eighteen and then I had a sort of...breakdown, and..."

His throat closes and he feels himself growing hot all over, the prickling crawl of panic over his skin. He cannot tell her about the weeks in the hospital. Not even Jester.

"Caleb," Jester finally manages to whisper, her free hand moving to cup his cheek. There are tears rolling down her face, as she listens to...a horror story. His life has been a  _ horror story  _ and Jester can’t fucking breathe, wants to wrap Caleb up in her arms and hold him until he feels whole again. Instead she just continues to stare at him, her face gone completely pale. "I’m so — fuck, I’m so  _ sorry." _

Caleb shakes his head, still unable to look at her. "Um. When they sent me home from the hospital I stole my birth certificate and a few other documents and ran away. Changed my name, legally." He gives a bitter laugh. "Never actually graduated, not that it matters. He must have been furious about that. He always cared about that sort of thing." 

There's a pause, while he concentrates on the warmth of Jester's hands. 

"Do you believe me?" he asks very quietly.

Jester swallows hard. She doesn’t  _ want _ to believe him. She wants nothing more than for Caleb to start laughing, to pull her into his chest as he teasingly whispers,  _ You are too easy to fool, Lavorre _ —

But she can see the devastation in his eyes even as he averts his gaze. She can feel the way he’s slightly trembling. 

"I believe you," she replies after a long moment passes. 

A slight shudder rolls through Caleb's frame at her words, like he has just held back a sob.

Jester tries to keep her voice calm and soft. "You...you’ve been through so much, Caleb, I didn’t  _ know." _ She swallows hard, her throat and mouth gone completely dry. "He’s...he’s still out there?"

He nods miserably. "I never told anyone," he murmurs, the old shame hot in his chest. "He got away with it. Is probably still getting away with things, still...hurting people." Caleb's grip on Jester's hand loosens, in case she wants to pull away from him and get up and leave. "I am...a little bit of a coward," he admits with a mirthless smile.

"No," she whispers back, tightening her grip on him. "You’re a  _ survivor _ , Caleb. You survived all the — the  _ terrible _ things he did to you." Shaking her head, she glances down at his scarred arms, his strong, calloused hands. "The things he made you do?  _ None _ of that is on you."

"Maybe not," replies Caleb in a tired, dead tone, unwilling to argue with her over this particular point, "but I could have gone to the police, sent a letter to the school board, anything. I have had eleven years." 

He feels the guilt weighing heavy on his chest like an anvil as he wonders for the thousandth time how many other students his uncle has harmed, directly or indirectly, over those eleven years — and then he imagines confronting him, or even being  _ found _ by him, and suddenly he can't get enough air.

"Have you...god,  _ please _ don’t take this the wrong way, Caleb," Jester begins, her voice barely above a choked whisper, "but have you seen a therapist?" 

"Ja," he admits. "For a little while. It...helped." It's true, he hasn't cut or burned himself in nearly six years, and the medication he's on has made his depression and anxiety pretty manageable. 

When you quantify it like that, he thinks, it almost sounds like he's doing okay. The problem is what can't be quantified.

Jester raises a hand to cup his neck, her thumb running softly along his skin. "That’s...that’s good, I mean, that you haven’t had to carry this completely alone." She bites at her lip, her whole body tense and uncomfortable. She wants to  _ hold him. _ She wants to bring his hand to her lips, wants to lean forward and press kisses to his face, his cheeks, his nose. "You...you’re protecting yourself, Caleb. That’s what matters."

He stares at her in disbelief. "No it's not," he says, wondering if he even heard her right. "What matters is that he is  _ still out there. _ If I were any sort of man I would have stopped him years ago, Jester."

"He abused you for  _ years _ , made you..." She trails off, tears forming in her eyes. "Caleb, you can’t judge yourself for wanting to be safe. For being scared."

"I can judge myself for putting that above what is  _ right." _ Caleb grips her hand  _ hard. _ "You understand what I am saying, ja? What if he has abused other kids? For all I know he is still in a position of power, still responsible for hundreds of students, still a fucking  _ sadist _ and a murderer, too, by proxy at least — "

Jester winces under his intensity, under the heat burning in his eyes. He’s right, is the thing — lots of children could be suffering. She nods weakly, her chest feeling oddly hollow. "Then we...then we can do something, we can make a report to CPS, or — or we can ask a therapist for advice —"

Caleb pulls his hand back.

She blinks. Remembers him saying,  _ I wish I could be with you, Jester. _

Before she even realizes it she's shaking her head. "No, no — Caleb,  _ no. _ This —  _ this  _ is why you can’t be with me?" she asks, voice incredulous and confused.

"You do not even really know me." His breath is coming short, like the stages leading up to a panic attack, though he's practiced at keeping good enough control that he doubts Jester will be able to tell. "Or at least now that you do, it must be obvious — "

"I’m in love with you," she blurts out, ignoring how  _ this is really not good timing. _ She’s too wrapped up in the feelings of the past hour, the bliss of his touch and the horror of his secrets, the melody of her  _ song,  _ all twisting painfully together in her stomach. "I know the kind of man you are. I  _ do." _

Jester reaches for Caleb's hand again, but he pulls back further, actually moves to sit a few inches back so there's more space between them. "Ja, I am the kind of man who will not report his abuser even after more than a decade, even to save other kids. That is the kind of man you want to be with?"

She hates the way his words jab like a dagger in her side, knocking the breath from her. "That — we — that’s something we can talk about, or — or figure out together, Caleb." She thinks of hours spent at his side, writing music, playing music; of the way his light always makes her feel safe and at home; of how she wants to do that for  _ him. _

Caleb is shaking his head. "I  _ killed my parents, _ Jester, I do not — " He sucks in a sharp breath. "I do not want to be with someone who is  _ okay with that." _

Jester goes still. Just watches him for a long moment. Then she stands on shaky legs. 

"I’m not going to sit here and let you use me as something to hurt yourself with," she murmurs, voice tight. His words rip through her, cutting and sharp, and she feels misery swirl in her chest. "Sorry I’m not going to  _ condemn you _ for being tortured as a child." 

She grabs her purse from the floor and then slips her shoes on as quickly as she can. Grabs her jacket and shrugs it on. Doesn't look at him. She can’t, not with the way her brain is repeating,  _ I love you. I wish I could be with you. I do not want to be with someone who is okay with that. _

Caleb watches in silence.  _ Weak, _ he thinks, hating how his eyes fill with tears,  _ coward, _ and a part of him wants to jump up and grab her, stop her from leaving — but the rest of him is, as usual, pinned where he is by fear.

Once Jester has her things collected, she pauses. Feeling sick to her stomach, she vaguely wonders how the fuck she’s supposed to make music with him, how she’s supposed to  _ see him _ anymore.

And then she’s walking down the hallway, out the front door, slamming it loudly behind her.

Caleb buries his face in his hands.

_ to be continued _


	6. Chapter 6

A week later, there's a letter in Jester's mailbox. No return address, but her name and address are clearly written in Caleb's sharp, elegant handwriting.

Her face twists in anger, in pain, in longing — but she grabs the envelope and heads inside her apartment, petting Nugget as she takes off her winter coat and scarf. Only once she’s fed Nugget and gotten a glass of water does she allow herself to open it with trembling fingers.

It's the piece of notebook paper with the lyrics to her song. On the back, Caleb has added:

_ Going back to therapy. I'm sorry, Jester. _  
_ cw _

His rejection still stings, bright and painful in her chest. All week she's been calling out of any practices or meet ups with the rest of the group, hasn’t been able to stomach the thought of seeing Caleb or Beau or _ any _of them. She's ignored all their messages, too, except to reply that she’s feeling ill. 

That hasn't been a lie. She certainly feels sick _ now, _ at the way one short note from Caleb makes her want to pick up the phone and call him, ask if he'll give her a chance, if she can prove that she could be _ good _for him. Beg, essentially. 

It's humiliating. 

So she puts the note in her songwriting book, which she hasn’t touched all week. Might never touch again at this rate. Then she cries. Has something to eat. Cries some more.

Then she sends Caleb a text message because she still has to _ work with him. _

_ Thank you for my song, _ she types. _ I hope you’re doing okay. I’ll have money for the songwriting time, just tell me how much you want or I’ll estimate. _

There. Professional and polite. She can do this. This is easy.

Caleb's response is almost immediate. _ Jester, please don't pay me. I did it for free. I'm serious. _

That hurts even _ worse: _ knowing that he wrote it because he saw those things in her, found something _ special _ in her, and it’s _ still _not enough. She wants to pay him so that it can stop weighing her down, so that she can try to release the love for him that sings through her body and make this more like a business transaction. 

Instead, she just replies, _ Okay. Thank you again. _

As she sets down her phone, the one thing she knows for sure is that she’ll _ never _ touch this song. 

*

Over the next few weeks...few months, really...Caleb stays in the background. There's no reason for him to come to recording sessions, not really, not once he's dropped his demo tracks into the shared folder the Mighty Nein all have access to. He defers decisions like lyric changes, vocal arrangements, instrumental accompaniment, and so on to the rest of the band, and he avoids as many meetings as he's able to, though he still has to be present now and then when they're talking to important people like lawyers, label reps, producers, publicists. They are working on a new album, after all, he can't just _ disappear. _

But he's never been more thankful that his only job in the group is to write songs. The stage fright has always been a good excuse to hide from the public, out of the spotlight where there is a risk of his uncle hearing about him, seeing his face, _ recognizing. _ And there have been times when, frankly, his uncle has been a good excuse for the stage fright. Right now, though, he'll take them both, whatever excuses he can get. No need to be in photoshoots, no need to give his input on album art, no need to sit through interviews or work with vocal coaches or choreographers or technicians or venue people — in short: no need to be in the same room as Jester.

He wants to ask her how she's feeling about all of this. They're famous now, and although the rest of the Mighty Nein had all had a _ taste _ of something like this before their last tour, for Jester it's completely new. He wonders if she's overwhelmed, if she's thriving on the attention or wishes she could just focus on their actual music, if she misses the privacy and carelessness that she'd probably taken for granted before or if she's happy to trade that for the chance to reach millions with her message and enthusiasm.

He can't ask her any of this. Because they barely talk now.

Jester has leaned into the spotlight. She is _ radiant _ in every interview, every meeting, every photoshoot she has to sit through. She doesn’t just grin and bear it — she _ beams _ her way through every single day, forcing herself to be perfect and happy and exactly what the world wants to see. 

One night she grabs dinner with Fjord and the next day there’s excitement online because someone snapped a photo of Jester laughing at one of Fjord's jokes, and now there are rumors about their _ romance. _ Good. Fine, whatever makes the band look good, whatever makes them _ interesting. _

Whatever makes her not have to focus on the emptiness Caleb has left in her life.

Funny how success tastes like ash in her mouth.

(Caleb sees the photos, reads the headline of the article before closing his laptop in disgust. It's tabloids, it's bullshit, obviously. Even if it wasn't, they wouldn't have any right to speculate about Jester's personal life. And he's never noticed her actually flirting with Fjord, though he can't necessarily say the same for Fjord himself. But for the rest of the day he walks around half-distracted, suddenly forced, in a matter of hours, to get used to the idea that Jester may very well have a boyfriend one day. Could be one day soon. And he has no right to say a single word about it.)

The weeks pass like this, and Caleb does, true to his word, go back to therapy. It's a...difficult transition. The therapist he used to see has retired, and starting over with someone new is challenging. He almost feels guilty dumping all of his issues on this one solitary person. He _ certainly _ feels like a joke, like she must be laughing at him after he leaves every week. _ Can you believe this guy thinks he's going to GET BETTER? _ his therapist must tell her friends over cocktails on the weekend. _ Let me tell you what we talked about this week, the time he got institutionalized... _

But he keeps going. Partly because he knows, from experience, that it's going to be like this for a little while. And partly because, every time he comes close to shutting down and giving up, he grits his teeth and thinks of Jester.

He has to get better. Has to be good enough for her.

When his birthday comes around in March, Jester presses a wrapped gift into his hands, murmuring, "Happy birthday, Caleb." It's just a present, no card, because what the _ fuck _ could she possibly write to him? _ I love you? I still love you? I wish you'd give me a chance? _

No, no card.

When Caleb unwraps it, he finds a gorgeous moleskin notebook, big enough for months of songwriting. A small _ cw _is debossed in one corner of the front cover, and inside, on the first page, are a few lines in Jester's familiar scrawl.

_ take me along the journey with you_  
_hold me upon your hand_  
_i can walk the ridges on your palm_  
_like mountains in the distant smiling sand_

_let me assuage your guilt and your grief_  
_walk with me out of the storm_  
_you can see my scars as plain as day_  
_i'm riddled with them, marked and bruised and torn_

_and you know that i am yours  
and i know that you are mine _

Caleb smooths his fingertips over the cover, reads the verses inside as his pulse thrums. He and Jester are not alone — they're out at a bar with the rest of their friends, because Beau _ dragged _ Caleb here, insisting that he needed to go out for his _ thirtieth birthday, god, _ and assuring him that it was private enough, seriously, there's not going to be any paparazzi or fans, they'll get a private room, come _ on. _

And she was right, it's been fine. A good night, mostly, or as good as could be expected. His therapist will be glad he got out of the house and socialized.

His eyes scan over Jester's handwriting a few more times. Then there's a tightness in his throat as he closes the notebook and pulls Jester into a gentle, one-armed hug. _ "Danke," _ he murmurs into her ear.

She hugs him back but releases him quickly, smiles that same smile she’s given everyone since January. She's not sure she can survive holding him too long. "You’re welcome," she murmurs back, eyes tired and sad but kind. She cares about him. She does, and nothing will change that but time.

Caleb is quiet for the rest of the night — quieter than usual, at least. He's running through discographies in his head, trying to think if the lyrics Jester wrote down are something he's heard before or something of her own composition. They're _ good. _ And more than that...

He's not going to let himself think about _ more than that _ until later tonight when he's home. That's not a conversation to have with himself around other people.

Jester spends the rest of the night at Fjord’s side. She's been spending a lot of time with him lately. He’s kind, and fun, and it makes the fans go crazy when they’re photographed in public together. Helps with album sales if nothing else.

Near the end of the night, Fjord wraps his arms around her shoulders as she shivers in the cool air. She smiles her thanks and doesn’t say anything. Caleb's whispered _ danke _is echoing in her heart.

_ to be continued _


	7. Chapter 7

It's only a couple of days later that Jester's phone buzzes with a text from Caleb.

_ Could I stop by for a few minutes? _

Jester sighs, glances around her messy apartment. Home is the only place that she’s able to strip down and just be  _ herself  _ — no one to perform for, no one to show off to.  _ Sure, come over and look at the dysfunction that is my life,  _ she thinks.

_ Sure! See you soon _ is what she actually texts back, as she rushes through changing her clothes and brushing her hair.

By the time Caleb shows up at her door with a gentle knock, it's been nearly forty-five minutes. When Jester opens the door, he's standing there empty-handed, feeling a little bit like an idiot. Feeling a  _ lot _ like an idiot, actually.

He forces himself to remember his therapist's gentle encouragement yesterday. Resists the urge to scratch at his forearm. Delving into all of this old trauma has been bringing up compulsions he'd thought long-buried, but so far he has managed not to hurt himself.

Jester smiles at him and steps aside to let him in. Her heart pounds faster just to see him there. She hasn’t been alone with him by choice in...two months? Nearly three? And now here he is. God, he’s so handsome she wants to cry.

Nugget interrupts the moment by bounding over and jumping up to greet Caleb, pawing at his legs. 

"Hey," says Caleb to the huge excited dog, kneeling down to scratch him behind his ears. Then he glances up at Jester. "Hi."

It nearly knocks the air from her lungs, him looking up at her like  _ that. _ Damn him. "Hi," she breathes out, ignoring the way her hands are shaking. "You want coffee? Or water, or something?"

"Oh. No, I'm good." Caleb wanders into the living room, hands in his pockets, looking around. 

He's always liked Jester's apartment. Very little seems to have changed since the last time he was here. He ends up over by the large, sprawling couch — far too big for a room this size, but that's Jester's style, isn't it? Always over the top and outrageous and loud? — and sits down, sinking into the deep cushions.

Jester sits at the opposite end of the couch, ignoring how Caleb looks so much like he belongs here, how the whole room feels  _ better,  _ less empty, with him in it. Nugget pads over and settles at Caleb's feet, panting happily.

"Um, so...how's Frumpkin?" is the first thing Jester manages to say, and she wants to punch herself as soon as it's out of her mouth.

Caleb ignores her question, which he's pretty sure she appreciates anyway. He gives her a long look, and then asks quietly, "Are you and Fjord together?"

Jester’s fingers twist together tightly where she's clasped her hands in her lap, and she stares back at Caleb. "Does it matter?" she murmurs, her heart in her throat. 

He lets out his breath in a nervous exhale.  _ "Ja, _ it...matters, for whatever I am going to say next."

Jester clenches her jaw, feeling like a part of her has come to life with his question.  _ He cares, _ she thinks dimly, her pulse beating fast under her skin. After a long moment of silence, she just shakes her head.

"No, you are...not together?" Caleb clarifies hopefully.

"Yeah." She pauses, and her brow furrows, her nose scrunching up. "I mean — no, we aren’t together. Not..." Jester blushes, the color spreading from her cheeks all the way down to the collar of her sweater. "Um. If that’s clear." She runs her hand through her hair.

Caleb nods. "Okay," he mutters, almost to himself. He is glad, he’s relieved as  _ fuck, _ but this also means he has to actually do the next part, which is...terrifying.

All that’s holding him together here is the fact that he is not facing his fears  _ alone. _ Jester is with him.

He takes a deep breath and looks her straight in the eyes. "Do you think I am too fucked up to be in a relationship?"

The world seems to slow, the air thickening until Jester's not sure she can even breathe.  _ Do you think I am too fucked up to be in a relationship? _ She wants to immediately shout  _ no, fuck, definitely not  _ — but Caleb's words from that afternoon back in January hiss through her mind.

Jester glances down at her hands, watches the way they faintly tremble. She clasps them together tighter and stares hard at them.

"I don’t think it matters what I think. You...you have to be the one to answer that, right?" she murmurs back.

If she were to look up, she would see tears filling Caleb's eyes. "I don’t know," he murmurs, his voice catching. "I...I have always thought so. That something is...too broken inside of me. Beyond repair." 

Caleb stares helplessly at Jester’s soft jawline, at the curl of hair that falls in front of her eyes. He swallows and it does nothing to banish the lump in his throat. 

"But then I see you, and...you make me feel like...a person. A real person."

Jester’s gaze lifts to hold his for a long, intense moment. "You are a real person," she whispers back, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Her fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, her arms feel heavy like she should gather him up in them...but she can’t. Not until Caleb speaks the words himself, confirms that he  _ wants _ her, because she isn’t willing to sit through another thought process of building their life together only for Caleb to knock it all down. 

"You’re...you’re real, Caleb. And good, no matter what you think."

He’s blinking rapidly, unable to reply, his mouth twisting as he tries to hold back his tears. "Okay," he breathes at last, speaking in a soft low voice but with great effort. "Different question, then. Would you be in a relationship with me?"

_ Knowing what you know? _ he leaves unsaid.  _ Knowing what I am? What I carry? The marks on me? _

Jester thinks back to last night. To Fjord's easy smile, to hours spent over dinner, talking about music and movies and their weird friends. To the way he'd cupped her face near the end of the night and whispered,  _ I want you to be mine, Jester. Would you — want that? _

She thinks of the way she’d paled and immediately thought... _ I can’t be yours. I’m his, I’m Caleb’s, and I’m not sure that’ll ever change.  _ Thinks of how quietly she'd admitted that she's been in love with Caleb since January, and of how Fjord had laughed a little sheepishly, even through his obvious disappointment, about the media getting to him, maybe even tricking him into thinking there was something between them.

Then she stares at Caleb, and knows that she'll be lying if she says anything else.

"Yes," she finally whispers, voice soft and careful. Like she’s afraid of what he’ll say.

Caleb couldn’t say anything if he tried. Instead he takes Jester’s hands in his own and just holds them, staring down, stroking her skin with his thumbs, entirely overwhelmed and staggered by Jester’s easy, soft, simple answer. He has been trying, he really has, to change his thought patterns, to stop his dark side in its tracks every time it whispers  _ you don’t deserve her _ or  _ you’re a piece of shit, _ but it has only been ten weeks or so, and his past is  _ so _ strong.

He looks down at Jester’s hands in his own and thinks, for the first time, that together...they might be stronger.

There are tears rolling down his face now. He doesn’t bother wiping them away — more will just come and replace them.

Jester scoots forward until her knees are nudging Caleb's thigh, her lips pressed together hard to keep herself from sobbing out. Three months she has loved him, three months she has  _ wanted _ this beautiful, tragic,  _ wonderful _ man and here he is...quietly wondering if she would have him. Like she could ever possibly not want him, flaws and all.

"I mean it," she whispers, clutching his hands like they’re her only tether to this world. "I love you. That didn’t...go away, Caleb."

"I love you too," he whispers. Then he bends over and rests his brow against her hands. Just sits there, taking deep breaths, her touch keeping him from flying apart. For a few moments it’s impossible to do anything else. "I cannot believe you," he chokes out finally, and he presses a kiss to her fingers, and then another, and then another.

Jester releases his hands and cups his cheeks, forcing him to sit up enough so that she can see his face. "I love you, every part of you. You have to accept that, Caleb, that I want even the parts you think are terrible."

He manages a smile. "I don’t understand it," he whispers, "but...I am done arguing." His smile widens even as a few more tears fall. "I give up, Jester. I should have asked you the day we met."

Jester laughs tearfully, using her shoulder to dry her cheeks so she doesn’t have to let go of his handsome face. "I wasn’t ready then, you know? I didn’t understand what I was feeling." She leans in, brushes a featherlight kiss over his lips. "I know now. I’ve never felt like this for anybody else, Caleb, not  _ anyone." _

He immediately moves closer and kisses her  _ hard, _ his hands going into her hair, even at this awkward angle where they’re both sitting and trying to face each other. He kisses the tear trails on her cheeks and chin and the faint pink blush under her skin. 

"I knew day one," he murmurs, stroking the side of her face. "I have not been able to get you out of my head since I first saw you. Or out of my songs." He nuzzles against her forehead, his heart racing with the thrill of her touch.

Jester grins, sniffling a little even as he kisses her all over. It's overwhelming, this rush of knowing that someone loves her more than anything else, the heat that follows in the wake of his touch, the warmth of being  _ wanted.  _ Overwhelming, and perfect.

"I like being your muse," she murmurs back, smiling against his lips.

"That is  _ exactly _ what you are," whispers Caleb with a little laugh. "My muse." He kisses her again. "My love." And again. "My heart." And  _ again. _ "My  _ licht in der nacht." _

Jester’s hands go to his shoulders, and then she’s pushing him to lay back into the couch, her mouth insistent and sweet against his. "I’m yours," she replies simply, her hands sliding to his neck to stroke at his skin. "You’re mine too, Caleb,  _ my _ heart and  _ my _ love."

His arms come up around her to hold her tight. "I am so sorry. For...for the way things went before. I was...you were right, I was being unfair." 

Her words from that cold January afternoon have been embedded in his heart like thorns for almost three months.  _ I'm not going to sit here and let you use me as something to hurt yourself with.  _ But now her body is a weight holding him to the couch, keeping him locked in his skin so he can’t float away on regrets into the past.

"I  _ was  _ right," she agrees quietly, no trace of anger or smugness in her tone. "I won’t be used to fuel your self-hatred, Caleb. I want to make things better, not worse. But I forgive you," she adds, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. She strokes his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. "You're allowed to feel however you feel. Just know that...if you're being cruel yourself, I’m always going to fight back. And I’m pretty stubborn."

"Oh, god, I love you," he breathes, tightening his grip around her waist.

She grins down at him.  _ My muse. My love. My heart. _ "What are the chances you’re in the mood after this super emotional conversation? Because I am suddenly  _ really _ hot for you."

Caleb goes extremely still. "Sh—" His mouth is suddenly dry and he has to lick his lips before he can get any words out. "Should we...take it slow, do you think?"

He  _ does not want to take it slow. _ But this new  _ emotionally healthy _ thing is...complicated. He has no idea what he’s doing.

Jester's eyebrows lift, playfully judging him as a wicked smile begins to tug at her lips. "What do you call three months of pining? That felt  _ pretty fucking slow." _

Caleb can’t help but grin back, if a little weakly. "And you are happy to have sex with someone whose self esteem is...pretty nonexistent?" He gives her a little squeeze. "Just checking, you know."

"I know a  _ pretty _ good way we can work on your self esteem," Jester teases, before her expression goes more serious again. "Hey. I love you, though. You want to wait for the third date, or the third month, or — okay, three  _ years  _ is extreme, I can’t even —" 

He shuts her up with a kiss.

"I didn’t — " Suddenly he’s blushing, even as he feels his arousal awakening under Jester’s body. "Um. I was not actually confident enough to bring any protection here with me,  _ liebste,  _ oddly enough. Are we all right without...?"

"You’re a fool," she whispers through a grin, shifting  _ slightly _ over him. "Thinking I wouldn’t want you. But I’m on the pill so..."

Jester winks at him. 

"Mmm," Caleb replies succinctly into her mouth. His hands slide down to grip the hemline of her sweater, and he starts tugging it up, insistent and hard.  _ I am your fool, _ he thinks in a daze.

Jester doesn’t resist — if anything she starts wiggling to help get the sweater over her head. When she’s finally free of it she sits up, legs straddling Caleb's waist as she boldly reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, throwing it toward her bedroom. She’s flushing from her face down across her chest, but she doesn't care. She  _ loves him.  _

Caleb pulls her back down to him and kisses her  _ deep, _ his hands traveling across the expanse of her bare back, reveling in the soft angles of her shoulderblades, the shift of her muscles under her skin as she moves atop him. The discovery that he can explore her mouth with his tongue even as his hands explore her body and find the soft, perfect swell of her breasts is  _ dizzying, _ and he abandons his plans of moving towards the bedroom anytime soon in favor of really settling in and learning how this new, wonderful, euphoric system works.

Jester is half out of her mind with want by the time she whispers breathlessly, "You gonna write about this?" Her hands trail along Caleb's torso as she allows her body to move on top of his, chasing the heat building in her core, and she  _ really  _ wishes he would take off his own shirt already, but she doesn't want to rush him.

Caleb bites gently into her shoulder. "You are assuming I haven’t already," he whispers.

"I bet they’re really good lyrics," she manages, sounding absolutely wrecked. "Bite me again." Her hands tangle in his hair and she gives a gentle tug. "If you want."

He gives her shoulder a little kiss instead, right where his teeth were pressing in a moment ago, and then he sits them both up. "Come on," he whispers, arms tight around her waist. "I’ll bite you in the bedroom.  _ Lavorre." _

Jester's body feels hot all over, the change in position doing... _ really _ good things for her. "Here is pretty good," she pants, grinding down onto his lap, finges still gripping at his hair.

_ "Bed will be better," _ he half-growls into her ear. He is  _ achingly _ hard for her and the way she’s tugging at his hair is going to be a  _ problem _ if they don’t both get undressed soon.

She moans, loud and broken into the air between them. "Maybe —" she tries to get out, but her voice breaks on another moan as she continues to rock down onto him. "Maybe you’re right."

Caleb pushes her off his lap, gently but firmly, so that he can stand up and capture her again, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of her bare waist as he kisses her, rushed and sloppy. "Bed," he whispers. "Please. Jester."

She’s going crazy, can’t seem to get enough of him — and then she barely manages to slip out of his grasp, backing toward her bedroom.

_ to be continued _


	8. Chapter 8

Jester has lived here for two years, so she doesn’t have to look behind her to safely navigate this place. She continues facing Caleb, naked from the waist up and  _ glowing  _ as she leads him down the hallway "What’s taking so long?" she teases. "Hurry  _ up, _ Cayleb."

For a moment he just watches her. Lust is curling deep in the pit of his stomach, like a hot smoke, but there’s something else too, there’s the liquid copper of passion running through his veins. He can’t take his eyes off her. When he does start following her — slowly, so that he has time to memorize her lines and curves, the sweet pink buds of her nipples, the freckles scattered across her pale creamy skin here and there like stars tossed onto a field of night — he finds himself thinking that old refrain:  _ I do not deserve her. _ Not because of what he is, not because of anything about  _ him _ — simply because she is  _ Jester. _ No one, he decides, letting her lead him in through her bedroom doorway, could ever deserve the woman in front of him. How  _ lucky _ he is. How  _ fucking lucky. _

Jester closes the bedroom door behind them once they're inside, and then she’s pressing Caleb up against it, her body plastered to his front. "I love you," she breathes, almost like she’s reading his awed thoughts. Her hands catch the hem of his sweater, trying to tug it up so she can get access to all his warm skin. She  _ needs _ to feel him brushing against her, hot and trembling and  _ hers. _ "God, fuck, I  _ love you." _

Caleb guides her to the bed, sits her down, and pushes her back so that she’s lying beneath him. Kisses her neck, the hollow of her throat, her clavicle, her breasts, sucking on each nipple before he presses three kisses in quick succession down her stomach towards her bellybutton. Then he pauses, sitting up a little, hovering over her on his elbows. 

"I love you," he whispers. "I..."

The way she is looking at him...some last little desperate fear flutters free and disappears into the air. Caleb strokes her cheek with the back of his hand and wonders at her.

"You know how people talk about worshipping their lovers?" he whispers close.

Jester’s breath is coming quickly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he drives her mad. His lips are scalding against her skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake. At his words she blinks hard, trying to clear some of the arousal fogging her mind. "I’ve heard it in a song or two," she replies breathlessly, watching him for his next move.

"Hmm." Caleb smiles against her skin. "Well. I get it now."

Jester whimpers, her hands moving to slide along his shoulders, pulling at his sweater again. She wants to feel Caleb, nothing else on his skin except her fingers, her mouth. "Let me touch you," she begs quietly, her throat closing up a little.

He sits up, mirroring her from five minutes ago as he straddles her waist and — only hesitating for a moment — pulls off his sweater. Tosses it to the side. Bends back over Jester a little and...waits to see what she does next.

He has never been more aware of his scars. Faint and faded, but unmistakable. Small cuts on his forearms, little speckles of old cigarette burns on his hands, his wrists, his stomach. Two thin, white lines across his inner wrists. A few tiny slashes over his hip bone, the bottom of his ribcage. A burn scar on his sternum. He’s flushing red and a part of him wishes that Jester would look away, push him off her, tell him she doesn’t want to see  _ that. _

He doesn’t move. Lets her stare if she wants. 

Jester trails her eyes along his chest, his stomach, over every mark there as her fingers follow the same path, and then her lips are dragging along his skin too as she sits up to get her mouth on him. She doesn’t linger too long over any particular scar or burn, especially the ones on his wrists, but she makes sure to kiss a lot of them. "Every piece of you," she murmurs into his skin, "is a piece I love. A piece I want." She catches his face, staring up at him with serious eyes. "My love.  _ My heart." _

Caleb feels himself break apart. "Jester," he whispers, closing his eyes and letting her touch him. He can’t manage anything but her name, repeats it a few times, hoping that she understands what he’s really saying:  _ thank you. I love you. I am yours. Thank you. _

He might be crying, as he lays her back down, kisses her till he can’t breathe, and starts trying to undo her jeans and pull them off her. He doesn’t really care. She has seen the worst of him, and for some unfathomable reason still wants him to get naked with her. She can handle a few tears.

Jester helps kick off her pants, her fingers trembling as she shoves the tight fabric down her legs, and then she’s reaching for his face again, holding him between her palms and kissing him with all the desperation bubbling inside of her. "I love you," she mumbles, the words still exciting and unbelievable. "Take your pants off,  _ please." _

Caleb  _ obeys. _ She could probably tell him to leap out of her second-story window right now and he'd obey. Then he moves back to lean over her, skin on skin, and confesses into the crook of her neck, "I have wanted this for ages, Lavorre." 

Jester arches up into him, her hands spreading across his back the way she’s imagined for  _ months. _ It’s exactly the way she’d hoped it would be. She grins a little, gasping out as he settles against her. "Since day one?" she confirms through a hoarse whisper, still smiling that same wicked smile — though her eyes are vulnerable, like a small part of her is still expecting rejection. Like he might change his mind, even now.

He laughs. (He hasn't laughed in weeks, hasn't had anything  _ to _ laugh about, but it almost feels more natural than speaking right now.) "No, not — well — " He starts kissing down her body again. "I did not exactly — give myself permission — to imagine this — for a  _ while." _ When he reaches her hip, he lifts her leg so that he can move to kiss her thigh, all the way up to her knee, nuzzling against her skin with his nose and cheek. "I am very  _ respectful, _ Jester," he smiles against the crook of her knee.

"You should be a  _ little _ less respectful," she manages in a breathy voice, lifting up on her elbows so she can watch him. He looks gorgeous there between her legs, his eyes a sparkling blue that makes lightning travel through her body. "And  _ touch me." _ And then she’s grinning, cheeks painted pink, hair mussed.

Caleb laughs again, and then he moves in and kisses her just below her bellybutton. His hand slides up her thigh to touch her cunt with two fingers, feather-light, just a caress. "This is...your first time, ja?" he asks softly. 

The last time they talked about this sort of thing — all of the Mighty Nein sitting around sightly tipsy at Mollymauk's birthday party one night about three or four months back, egged on by Beauregard's insistent questioning — Jester had admitted with a faint blush that she was still a virgin at twenty-three. 

_ ("Caleb's BASICALLY a virgin and he's almost THIRTY, you're FINE," Beau practically shouted. "He hasn't gotten laid since HIGH SCHOOL." _

He still sort of wants to punch Beau.)

Jester almost whimpers under his teasing touch, only manages to swallow the sound by biting  _ hard _ at her lip. Her fingers twist in the sheets as she manages, "Yeah. Does that — bother you?" She can’t imagine that it would, that Caleb would care if she’d slept with five guys or none, but she’s still...self-conscious about it. Her sexual knowledge is pretty much entirely formed from smut novels and porn.

"No," he breathes, kissing her a little lower, his fingertips teasing around her entrance. "I wish..."

He glances up at her. He's blushing  _ hard. _ "Is it...weird that I wish you were my first too?"

Jester just stares at him for a long moment before she blurts out inelegantly, "Fuck, how are you so  _ sweet?" _ She wants to sit up and catch him with her lips again, to tell him through kisses that she  _ loves _ that he wishes that — but his hands are slowly, maddeningly driving her insane her and she’s not even sure she can  _ move. _

"This is the first one that matters. Our first," is what she finally whispers, hoping she’s making sense.

"Mmm." Caleb softly kisses her clit. "You are in charge,  _ liebste. _ Tell me what you want." Her heat, her smell, the way she's wet for him already, is all getting to him like alcohol or vertigo, throwing him into a daze he's not sure he'll recover from. He wants to plunge his fingers into her and work her over with his mouth until she screams for him, but she has to ask first.  _ Please ask, _ he thinks desperately.

"More, fuck,  _ Caleb. _ Stop  _ teasing me," _ she groans weakly, one hand releasing its death grip on the sheets and moving to his hair as she flops onto her back. She blinks at her ceiling, her brain fogged up with lust and longing. "Or I’ll — I’ll just have to do it myself," she lies, absolutely fucking  _ lies  _ because she’s thought of nothing but his hands for three months. She’d wait  _ forever _ for him.

Caleb slips one finger into Jester's heat, slow and shallow. "Is this okay?" he whispers, rubbing the head of his thumb over her clit gently.

_ "No." _ She whimpers, grinding into his hand as she searches for more pressure, more heat, more  _ anything. _ "You — I need  _ more," _ she begs entirely without shame. Caleb has wanted her for months, has worked for  _ months _ to feel like they can be together. She has a feeling he doesn’t particularly mind if she’s a little desperate for him. 

He smiles. "Your wish is my command," he murmurs, and  _ immediately _ feels like an idiot — who  _ says _ that right as they're about to go down on someone? Why do his command of words and sense of style seem to desert him around Jester  _ every time? _ It's like she reduces him to a babbling moron, and she seems to have  _ no idea, _ which just —

Then she's arching her hips against him as his fingers slide into her, and he forgets the entire English language.

Jester moans — loud, broken, and  _ frantic  _ as her whole body shudders under him. She’s always sort of had a thing for his hands. Pretty much since the very first time she’d noticed him run them through his hair or seen him pluck at his guitar strings. But now he’s  _ touching her _ and she is probably going to die right here in this bed.

"Mother  _ fucker," _ she whispers, gripping his hair a smidge too tight as she gasps.

Caleb feels a jolt of arousal run through him as Jester pulls his hair. "You could keep doing that," he manages to get out, finding a rhythm with his fingers, stroking her deep inside and ducking his head so that he can lick her senseless in a moment. "That's...good."

Jester nods her agreement, and inches him even closer toward her heat. "I’ll keep pulling if you put your mouth on me again," she attempts to negotiate, though she undermines her own point by tugging  _ hard _ on his hair. As he touches her, works her with his long fingers, Jester faintly recalls his words from earlier in that soft voice of his.  _ You know how people talk about worshipping their lovers? _

She certainly fucking feels worshipped.

"Deal," Caleb whispers, and then he doesn't say anything else for a long time.

*

Afterwards, as they lay entwined in each other's arms, still gasping a little for breath, Caleb brushes a kiss against Jester's shoulder and murmurs, "You know that this is...not going to be easy,  _ liebste. _ For me."

Jester nods, her fingers trailing lazy drawings on his chest. First a butterfly, then a smiley face. She keeps her gaze trained on her masterpiece, the invisible little marks she leaves on Caleb’s flushed skin, like they'll somehow...not  _ banish  _ the marks that are already there, because she wants him scars and all, but...consecrate them, maybe. "I know," she whispers back. "But I’m not afraid of that. You want to be with me, right?" She knows the answer, but wants to hear him say it anyway.

"Yes." He swallows. "I will...put in the work, Jester. You are worth it."

She pauses and then meets his gaze, fingers stilling on his chest. Her eyes are kind, her expression soft.  _ "You’re _ worth it, Caleb. It’s going to be hard but you should do it for  _ you, _ because you deserve good things." She smiles. "And if I’m one of the good things, well. Better for me."

"You are the  _ best _ thing in my life," he murmurs. His gaze is serious. "I...I want to believe that I am worth...anything. I do, Jester. I am...getting there."

Jester nods at him, leaning down to drop a gentle kiss to his chest. "I don’t mind reminding you every day." She thinks of waking up next to him every morning, of her life and his life blending into  _ their life. _ There's no rush, there's plenty of time to get there...but she thinks about it all the same. "I’m not going anywhere. Just...so you know."

Caleb's strong arm comes up to wrap around her. "No, you are not." He presses her close. "We have a lot of songs to write together,  _ liebste." _

She grins, snuggling closer. Her bedroom feels fuller, somehow, like Caleb's very presence has made it  _ better,  _ more...lived in. "Tons and  _ tons _ of songs. I want to hear every song you’ve written for me, by the way. I haven’t forgotten that notebook."

He smiles into her hair. "All of my songs are for you," he whispers. "You have heard them all. Although Fjord is usually the one singing them."

Jester slaps playfully at his chest, her smile brightening. "You are so  _ cheesy, _ Caleb Widogast." She leans forward and presses a lingering, tender kiss to his lips. "I bet they sound better coming from you though," she murmurs when she pulls back. "You wrote them for  _ me, _ I think it’s only fair you sing them for me." 

_ "Faint and wondered, I am weak to your heart," _ Caleb sings, so softly, just the breath of a whisper against her lips,  _ "a precious hunger, a leap in the dark." _ He trails his fingertips across her bare back.  _ "My answers fail; your lies are true; I am a lonely one without you." _

It's a verse she recognizes from one of the tracks they just recorded this winter. Jester shivers, goosebumps breaking out along her skin as she listens. Caleb has one of the most beautiful voices she’s ever heard and it still doesn’t feel real that she gets to hear it like this, naked and curled up in bed with him. "I’m so lucky," she whispers, hiding her face in his chest so he can’t see her ridiculous tears.

"You are my luck." Caleb rolls over and pins her to the bed, planting a forceful kiss against her lips. "I am going to go make us coffee. If I have your permission,  _ liebste." _

"I don’t know, I think we could just fool around and skip the coffee," Jester half jokes, dragging her fingertips along his sides in what she hopes is a distracting manner. "Although asking my permission is kind of  _ hot, _ Caleb. Be careful or I might get used to it." She leans forward, biting his bottom lip playfully.

He gasps at her bite, eyes darkening, color flooding his neck and chest. "Jester," he murmurs uselessly.  _ "Jester." _ Breathing hard, he pushes her down again, just to give himself a moment to clear his head. "I barely slept last night," he says, sounding a little fuzzy even to his own ears. "I need caffeine if I am going to make it, you brat."

She laughs, but then grabs his shoulders and pushes  _ him _ into the bed. "Lay down," Jester murmurs, hovering over him for a brief moment before dropping to curl up into his side. "And take a nap. We don’t have anything today, right?"

"I have  _ you," _ he tells her simply, locking eyes with her. "You are my new hobby. And you have not had  _ nearly _ enough orgasms today,  _ wunderschöne." _

"You get me  _ every day, _ Caleb, not just  _ today." _ Jester holds his gaze, ignoring how her cheeks have probably gone bright red under his stare. She isn’t used to hearing him like this, this teasing confidence — it’s  _ pretty fucking good. _

The smile he gives her is one of the brightest she’s ever seen on his face. "Every day," he murmurs. "Do I have your  _ permission _ to call you my girlfriend, Lavorre?"

Jester matches his grin, pinching his side as she laughs. "I’ll allow it, I  _ guess. _ Has a certain ring to it, you know?" She leans into him, still giggling as she whisper-sings,  _ "Your girlfriend." _

Her voice isn't even in tune and it’s  _ dumb _ but Jester doesn’t really care. This is one of the best days of her life, she can act a little foolish if she wants.

_ "Ich liebe dich," _ whispers Caleb. He holds his  _ girlfriend _ close, and it’s in her arms that he falls asleep, sheltered from the storms that would tear him apart if they could. A deep, silent peace settles over them both, and they lay there for hours, unfinished but coming together, unwritten but already dreamed up.

_ fin _


End file.
